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Conversation Topics for Lonely Foreigners 101

by Jeremy Hart

For most people who travel, it's impossible to escape being a foreigner. No matter how hospitable, how inviting, or how familiar the people around us seem, in the end, we don't belong there -- and they do. A lot of tourists get completely locked into this frame of mind from the word "go," and wander the world as if everything's set up for them, like it's all just one big theme park that shuts down for the season once they've passed through.

Even if you don't fall into the category above, you're still a tourist, plain and simple. Sure, you can be a "traveler," too, if you want, but it's a mistake to think you're better than the rest of the fanny pack-wearing herd. Why? Because you don't belong, either, and worse still, chances are you think you do belong.

Now, being foreign doesn't mean you're absolutely on your own. In fact, by being a foreigner, you've got an immediate new group of friends, all of whom are also foreign. There's nothing that brings people together quite like the feeling that they don't belong.

So, you meet people. If you're really good at traveling, you don't mess about when you meet people, either -- it's the people who've spent the last three months wandering the globe who walk up to you out of the blue just as you put your bag uncertainly by your bed in the hostel or hotel and say "hi, I'm Bob; who are you?" Nobody is an island, and traveling alone will make a desperate extrovert out of the shyest and meekest. Speak with a non-native accent, and suddenly that hairy guy in the Birkenstocks and the ratty Whitesnake t-shirt is your best friend. Just having a friendly conversation can become the high point of your night.

The one problem with all this, though, is actually relating to these people. I mean, come on -- how much do you really have in common with the guy in the Whitesnake t-shirt? What could you possibly have to talk about? The thought occurred to me recently during a trip to Ireland, so I tried to take note of how things worked (at least, in my case). In general, you've got a few options:

1. Sometimes it's very easy; just talk about traveling. One woman I met introduced herself to me just by saying "Hi, I'm Tami -- where have you been?" Maybe it's not exactly debating Hegelian philosophy or dealing with that pesky conflict with your father, but it's meaningful enough. When you meet someone somewhere, recently having come from somewhere else, there is a very good chance that that someone might end up going wherever it is you just came from.

2. Nearly everyone has a travel horror story, and if it's a credible story, that sort of information can be practical. Talking traveling "shop" is popular, particularly if you're of the backpack-and-a-good-pair-of-boots variety of traveler; that stuff you carry tends to get expensive after a while, and many people will jump at the chance to tell you all about what they happen to have brought along.

3. Another common tactic is to play roving sociologist. In Ireland, I had an incredibly thoughtful conversation once with a guy I met at a hostel that basically encapsulated the whole of Irish society, top to bottom. We talked about the burgeoning technology job market, the post-agrarian economy, the invasion of American culture...and we were brilliant. It would've made for a fascinating doctoral thesis, much less conversation over beer in a noisy pub. As foreigners, we are uniquely qualified to comment on what goes on around us. So why not? Analyze the dynamics of familial groups in Lappland, muse about the origins of tribal conflict in central Africa, or discuss the implications of ancestor worship on Chinese life. You can step outside of that ugly bar brawl breaking out one table over and trace the socio-economic factors that caused a heavy beer mug to hit somebody in the head without fear of being involved -- you're a foreigner, remember? And, hey, if you're really good, you can always write a book.

4. This brings me to the most crucial topic of conversation for lonely foreigners stranded abroad: sports. Now, this may only apply to men, I must admit -- most of my conversations with women while running this little experiment tended to stick to the topics above. But the subject of sports unites pretty much every guy you could possibly meet. If they don't know anything about sports, you can bet they'll pretend they do, just to keep the conversation going, so you absolutely can't lose. For the most part, I can't stand sports, but I've discovered that when I'm traveling, I find myself pulling obscure facts and observations out of nowhere so I can at least credibly pretend I know a thing or two about basketball.

Many folks you meet who aren't from the States will have at least heard of American football, and nearly all of them will have some kind of an opinion of it (largely bad), and they won't hesitate to give it to you. Heck, discussing sports with some people can escalate beyond just friendly conversation into full-on debate, which, for entertainment and bonding purposes, beats conversation hands-down.

The possibilities are endless, really and truly. I was accosted at one point on the front stoop of a Dublin hostel by an extremely drunk pair of Brits, one of whom was determined to find out from me the winner of the World's Cup. Unfortunately, I had no idea who won, but he didn't quite get that, as he apparently found my American twang as perplexing as I found his thick Mancunian accent. This led to an interesting little exchange:

"Football? FOOT - BALL."
"Yeah, football, but the game-"
"Football. Football! Er...soccer? Soccer!"
"Yes, I know what football is, but I don't know who won that game."
"Feh, useless."

He never got the winning team out of me, but the attempt made us pals until he and his mate wandered drunkenly off down the street.

Now, I can't honestly claim to know why this works the way it does; why on earth should just talking sporting events unite people like this? Why not poetry or poker? Another example from my trip may shed a bit of light, however -- at one point in Dublin, I was sitting in a pub, bemoaning the U.S. team's pathetic performance in the '98 World Cup to a die-hard Man United supporter.

Listening to me rant about the U.S. team's inability to keep the ball on the ground, the guy went from practiced disdain towards me to kind-eyed sympathy, and why? The reason is a big part of what makes sports the language of men everywhere: no matter where you're from, everybody in the world knows exactly how it feels to back a losing team.

Jeremy Hart lives in Houston (where it is either very hot or very wet), and spends his time writing frantically, drinking far too much coffee, attempting to surf, putting out his own magazine on local music (Space City Rock), and getting the heck out of town whenever possible. And contrary to pictures, his eyes are not always closed.